


17 Weeks

by DevineElocution, justC



Category: Placebo
Genre: Implied Violence, M/M, molsdal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevineElocution/pseuds/DevineElocution, https://archiveofourown.org/users/justC/pseuds/justC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(AU in which one's dom/sub status is open knowledge and brothels are as common as convenience shops.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	17 Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: We do not know, and certainly do not own any (front or touring) member of Placebo. This is a work of fiction, no offence is intended.

"So you're going for a cute little sub, eh?" Chris slurs.   
  
"...Y'know, this  _is_  Stef we're talking about," Bill points out, slightly more eloquently.   
  
"Guys," the birthday boy himself interjects. "I don't even want to do this."  
  
This isn't his first time at this counter, staring into the lounge behind it as if the people there are simply fixtures in an Ikea showroom. He was here two years ago, standing on the very same wine stain in the mustard yellow carpet, but he stared at the red splotch while Sara took her pick. The entire tradition of your closest friends dragging you to a sexhouse when you reach the age of consent is not only intimidating, but slightly disturbing to Stefan. He seems to be the only one thus far that sees these workers as the people they are, not the alcoholic beverages that they're often equated to during birthday excursions.   
  
"If you're having trouble deciding, I can help you," the owner offers.   
  
She's a shorter woman with shoulder-length blond hair and a large smile. It takes a moment, but Stef is finally able to put his finger on the fact that she looks like an ominous caricature of his very own mother. At that, the night becomes even more unsettling.   
  
"Let's start with your role." She continues. "Dom or sub?"  
  
"I'm... um..."  _Neither_ , he almost says. For whatever reason, he didn't go one way or the other. Even though boys tend to come into their roles earlier than girls, at 21 and well through puberty Stef still hasn't figured out which one he is. He falls back on what's listed on his ID: the third option. "Switch."  
  
"And would you like a male or female?"   
  
 _This_  one, he's known since childhood. "Male."  
  
The woman turns around and leans against the counter, looking over her employees for a good match. She barely gets a chance to scan the room when an obviously unsatisfied client comes stomping down the steps mouth first.   
  
"He's done it again, Rene!" The man shouts. "He doesn't listen! He's a horrible sub."   
  
The owner - Rene, apparently - mouths an apologetic  _'Excuse me'_  before rushing to the other end of the counter to soothe the angry man.   
  
Chris and Bill are long gone, having found luxurious seats in a corner at the bottom of the stairs. Stef watches them chat quietly while attempting to muster the courage to grab them each by an ear and leave. Their sudden shock at something at the top of the steps snaps Stefan out of his thoughts. He counts the seconds until the worrisome sight makes it halfway down the staircase into his view. A boy, bruised and shaking, wrapped in only a towel, descends to the bottom with his head hanging. Straight black hair draped in front of his face makes it difficult to tell, but Stef can see his split bottom lip and a swollen cut on his nose. Rene doesn't look at all pleased with the situation. However, [much to Stefan's dismay] her irritated glare is aimed directly at the boy, not the ranting man.   
  
The large man that presumably caused such damage storms out with a final huff. Rene grabs the shell-shocked boy by the arm and pulls him behind the counter. She bends into him and speaks quietly, but Stef can hear every word.   
  
"How many times have I told you," she snaps bitterly. "The customer is always right. You listen to  _them_ , you do whatever  _they_  tell you to do, whether you like it or not. That's why you're here, it's what you're paid to do. Keep this up, though, and you won't be here much longer. Thanks to your little stunt,  _whatever_  it was today, you're half an hour over your time. You have five minutes to clean yourself up and I want you back in that lounge, patched and ready to please. Am I understood?"  
  
"But Miss Rene," the boy protests. "This is going to take so much longer. Give me ten, at least. Please?"   
  
"With back-talk like that, make it two."   
  
"Please-" he tries again.   
  
Rene begins to say something, but Stef speaks first. His eyes have seen enough that they push his mouth to take over.   
  
"I'll take him." Stefan clearly states.   
  
In the corner, Bill's jaw drops and Chris almost falls off of his seat.   
  
"The  _fastest_  two minutes of your life, you have a client waiting." Rene whispers.   
  
"Um, actually, just like that is fine."  
  
Terror flashes in the boy's eyes.   
  
"Oh, into bloodplay I see." Rene purrs as she pulls a key from the rack behind the till and hands it to Stef. "Well, we do indulge most any fetish here. Room 28, Midnight will show you. Take your time, Mr Olsdal, and enjoy your birthday."   
  
The boy clutches where the towel is tucked in and starts up the stairs. Stef dismisses his friends with a simple and quiet  _'I'll call you tomorrow'_  as he passes them on the way up. At the top of the steps, the building begins to resemble a hotel. Door after door lines the walls, numbered one through thirty. By the sounds of it, a few of the rooms along the first corridor are occupied, but after they turn at the end of the first hall, the ambient noise dies down. The frightened boy stops in front of the room labelled 28 and looks up at Stef, his gaze having not left the ground until now. Stef unlocks it and waves for the boy to step in first. He's in a slight daze as he closes the door and surveys the room. There's a large bed [a custom size, Stef predicts] on the opposite wall with a night stand on either side and a door to the right. On the same wall as the entrance is a wooden media shelf with a television on it. A small sofa sits on the far wall where a closet might be in a typical bedroom. Following a hunch, Stef heads for the second door and peaks inside. Thankfully it _is_ an en-suite bathroom, and even better, there's a shelf next to the sink fully stocked with first aid supplies. Looking over the materials and wondering what exactly he needs makes him long terribly for the assistance of his non-judgemental mother and her delicate, caring hands. Stef swings around the doorframe to see just how badly the boy is hurt and finds him perched at the edge of the bed, staring at the toilet door.   
  
"How may I serve you?" The shaken boy asks. It's hardly a whisper and there's a trembling in his voice.   
  
"Uh, um... N-no, I'm not, um." Stef can't quite wrap his head around the person in front of him, falling apart and still attempting to carry on. "What's your name?"  
  
"Midnight," the boy sighs.   
  
Stef lightly shakes his head and sits next to him. "Well you don't seem to like that very much. What would you prefer to be called?"   
  
"...Brian maybe?"   
  
"Okay, Brian. I'm Stef."   
  
"And what should I call you?" Brian inquires as if it's nothing. After a short confused pause, he clarifies. "Y'know, master, owner-"  
  
"Oh. No, I'm not a dom. I'm not even- Never mind. Just Stef is fine. Um, is there a clean change of clothes for you somewhere?"   
  
There's a moment of still silence. Brian's gaze slowly transitions from Stefan to the floor. Stef closely watches the movement of his incredibly expressive eyes and certainly doesn't miss the building of tears. The first rolls down his pale cheek, a second merges with the bleeding cut on the bridge of his nose. Without really thinking, Stef casts his arms around the dark-haired boy beginning to cry. As sobs increase, the space between them decreases. Stefan tries to imagine what exactly happened to leave Brian in this state, but doesn't get very far before he flinches with fear.   
  
"You... you, you're..." Brian sniffles. "I don't understand."   
  
Stef gives him a moment to breath and collect himself. While Brian stares at Stefan, bewildered, the Swede starts to notice damage that is much more long-term than the fresh injuries. There's a greyish-blue shadowing underneath the boy's eyes, scars of all sizes, colours, and depths are scattered across his skin.   
  
"When did you sleep last?" Stef asks softly.   
  
"I... I'm not sure, this morning sometime. I don't sleep well."   
  
Within seconds, Stefan has a plan in his head. He slowly lets go of Brian and steps into the toilet, shrugging his coat off and placing on the hook on the door as he passes by. Aftercare of this degree is completely foreign to him, but he's determined to help this broken boy. After grabbing one of everything from the first aid cabinet, he drops it on the bedside table and kneels next to Brian. From the lower angle, he finds brush burns on Brian's knees and a fresh bruise on his thigh. So closely seeing someone in this condition is the most difficult thing Stefan has forced himself to do, but it's the exact reason why he needs to do this. He glances up and sees the uncertainty on Brian's face. He'll obviously need to proceed with extreme caution, but first he needs to figure out a place to start.   
  
"I, can I, um," Stef falters for a second. Never before has he longed so desperately for the sense of calm that his grandmother possesses, or the tenderness of both his parents' as they bandaged his minor bumps and scrapes as a child.   
  
As speech fails him, he reaches up and brushes Brian's hair behind his ears. Despite the current blemishes that need tending to, Brian's pale face is flawless. There's a natural glow lying just under the surface that Stef presumes hasn't come out in years. He dries the tear tracks with a swipe of both thumbs and pulls a tissue from the box on the table. He wills every ounce of care from deep within his own soul and wipes drying blood from the side of Brian's nose. Brian's eyes are fixed on Stefan's shoulder, not quite focusing on it, but not seeing beyond. Trepidation replaces the air in the room, but the space between the two men is a silent agreement that [for tonight at least], everything will be okay.   
  
Stef pulls another tissue out and dabs under Brian's lip. Not much is coming off, but he's only getting started. There's a box of individually packaged wet-wipes that Stef puts to use. He tries his best not to rub too hard, or touch an open cut directly, as the alcohol will most definitely burn. Brian cooperates, whether it's a conscious decision or not, and stays still. It doesn't take more than a minute before Stef has Brian's face completely clean and a butterfly stitch diagonally across his nose and one parallel to the outline of his bottom lip. While that was the worst of broken skin, Stef knows that whatever he's about to move onto will probably be twice as bad.  
  
He takes a deep breath and decides against asking Brian to so much as shift a corner of the towel just yet. He looks of the pile of supplies and finds a tube of antibacterial ointment with a numbing agent in it. Since the absolute cleanliness of his hands is questionable, Stef digs through the variety of sealed bandages until he gets to the adhesive-free patches. He unwraps it and squeezes a generous drop of ointment onto the corner. Brian winces when it makes contact with the raw skin of his knees, but Stef's sensitive touch persuades him to relax. Once the right side is evenly coated, Stef turns the patch to a dry corner and repeats the process on the left. Unsure of what to do when he's finished, he wraps a layer of gauze around each leg and tapes the ends down, just to keep dirt off of the sticky, healing skin.   
  
With the visible parts taken care of, Stefan moves from the floor to the bed next to Brian. Brian's gaze doesn't move, though now it's fixed on the wall opposite them. Stef looks - really looks - at Brian's back for the first time tonight. He can see sharp welts peeking out of the top of the towel, and he knows they extend so much farther than just an inch or so each. It's heart-breaking enough already and he can't bring himself to ask Brian to drop what's probably his safety blanket right now. He thinks for a moment, then goes back into the toilet. In the corner behind the door, there's a full-length cabinet. Towels exactly like the white one draped around Brian take up the bottom 3 shelves. Above that, there are two shelves of basic grey pyjama trousers, and two more with matching grey shirts. The clothing is all the same size - oversized, especially for Brian - and there's no type of underwear at all, but it'll have to do. T-shirt and bottoms in hand, Stef returns to the boy's side.   
  
"Brian?" Stef lays the clothes in the small space between them. "Will you let me see your back?"   
  
The boy guardedly pulls the towel down until it's only covering him just below the waist. Raised pink gashes stripe his back, some crossing over others. The longest one stretches from Brian's left shoulder all the way to his right hip. There's a thin red line down the centre of it, dotted with tiny droplets of scabbed blood. Stef suppresses a gasp as he surveys the lacerations. He doesn't know where to even begin. When he leans over to collect the array of ointments, he catches a glimpse of Brian's chest. It's an upsetting sight, identical to the state of his back, but with the addition of a stomach-churning bright red bite. The skin isn't broken, but the clear outline of teeth is painfully inflamed. Stef forces himself to look away before he loses his calm. He stares at the dingy curtains on the window at the other side of the bed and intentionally focuses on little details - the dusty blue flowers on an even duller green background, the little hole burned into the edge. A thought occurs to Stef that he shouldn't be here doing this, that Brian should be in hospital for wounds like this. He takes another deep breath and looks at Brian's back again. At second glance, healed scars of all ages become obvious, none of which appear to have been treated by a professional.   
  
In the quiet, Brian can physically feel Stefan's eyes examining him. Though oddly, he feels no scrutiny or judgement. What should be one of the most degrading moments of his life simply isn't. There's a strange innocence about this man who's chosen him. It takes a minute to surface but Brian begins to realise that for once, he's at ease. Dare he acknowledge the idea, he feels...  _safe_.   
  
"This is probably going to sting," Stefan warns while uncapping a new tube of salve.   
  
A tear builds and falls from the outer corner of Brian's eye, quickly followed by another one. In rapid succession, they stream down his face. He doesn't quiver or whimper, just cries without a sound. He flinches when Stef first touches the gel to his unbearably sore skin, but wills himself not to resist. He tries to match Stefan's measured breathing when the sharp burning hits. He's thankful that Stef's started with the minor lash marks. His eyes keep flickering to the VCR on the media stand. Staring at the digital time is something that's become a habit for Brian. Watching it over somebody's shoulder or on his knees, so often he focuses his attention on counting the minutes [sometimes hours] until he can leave and go back to his own bed downstairs. Tonight's different, though. From Rene's comment and the little bit that Stefan's told him, Brian knows that the time limit-free birthday special gives them until closing, about six hours from now. Instead of counting the minutes until the night's over, Brian counts how many generous minutes Stefan has spent on him thus far. Thirty-eight to be exact.   
  
By the time Stefan gets to the worst slash of all, Brian can't really feel most of his back, just a warm tingling. An empty bottle of numbing gel, actually meant for burns, slips off the bed and falls to the floor. When Stef leans over to go after it, he catches a glisten from Brian's face. He drops to his knees in front of the boy and tenderly holds just above his wrists.   
  
"I'm so sorry, I didn't realise it hurt this much. Do you want to take a break for awhile?"  
  
Brian barely whispers, "It doesn't hurt."  
  
The words and what they mean don't immediately register with Stef. When they do, his stomach flips at the thought of what this boy is feeling, non-physically.   
  
"Should I stop?" Stef offers.  
  
There's a long silence. As the seconds wear on, Stefan can almost hear the inner conflict and subsequent anxiety attack flooding Brian's veins. He considers the circumstances and chooses to keep going, hoping that Brian will stop him if need be. He unwraps a new sterile patch and coats the edge with antibacterial numbing gel, from the last bottle of it. Delicately, Stef traces each red line until the pad runs dry.  
  
"Stef?" Brian murmurs, remembering the single untouched long cut. "What about-"  
  
"It's done already," Stef tells him with a small smile. "I'm glad you didn't feel it."  
  
The Swede finishes up with the much less critical wounds on the boy's chest and prepares for the awful looking bite. He uses a cotton swab dipped in peroxide to clean around it, getting as close as he can to each swollen tooth mark. Another cotton swab dripped with numbing liquid is carefully dabbed over the area, then folded into one of the discarded tissues. All the injuries that Stefan could see have been tended to, but he fears there may be something else that the towel is covering.   
  
"...Thank you," the boy says softly.   
  
"You're welcome. Brian, is there, um, anywhere else-"   
  
"No. I wouldn't let him touch me. That's how I got this pretty nose ring," he jokes.   
  
Stef grins slightly. The boy's tears have come to an end and the fear in his eyes is gone now. An hour has passed and if you'd have asked Stef 60 minutes ago, he would have told you he wanted nothing more than to go home. But after what he's just seen and done, he wants nothing more than to stay and help Brian put himself back together. The room is paid for by his friends and he's not tired... Stef not-too-begrudgingly accepts the fact that he isn't quite ready to leave this boy with the glittering blue eyes just yet.   
  
He stands and unfolds the oversized t-shirt. The gaping collar falls harmlessly down Brian's face while the floppy sleeves lay atop his shoulders. Stef holds the bottom hem bunched at chest level until Brian gets his arms through the respective holes. From there, he gently lowers the shirt down, careful to keep it from rubbing against the freshly greased injuries. As Stefan lifts the tracksuit pants by the waistband, the ankles flop to the carpeted floor.   
  
"Uh, I can... if you..." the shy Swede stutters. He'll gladly help in any way Brian needs, but he doesn't want to assume that the boy is perfectly comfortable with baring all at this very moment.   
  
"It's okay, I can get it."   
  
Stef offers a slightly embarrassed grin as he hands the clothing over to Brian.   
  
"Right. I'll just, um-" He grabs a wad of bandage wrappers in one hand, a few unused ointments in the other and steps into the en-suite.   
  
The wrappers go in the bin while Stef makes sure the tubes and bottles go back in their proper spots. He counts to ten, then listens for soft rustling from the other room to stop. When it does, he re-enters cautiously. Brian's closer to the headboard than before with his head propped between his raised knees. The position looks anything but comfortable, but the boy with walls higher than the very building that they're occupying seems to be letting a few bricks of it fall.   
  
"I guess I owe you now." He says, gazing at the wall.  
  
"Why on earth would you owe me?" As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, Stef light-heartedly shakes his head. The intonation, the phrasing... Sure,  _now_  the essence of his mother that he'd been desperately trying to channel comes out. "We're not having sex if that's what you're referring to."  
  
Brian suddenly looks hurt. "Oh."  
  
"No, I don't mean anything by it. It's just... I'm a virgin, okay? I'd like my first time to be with someone who might enjoy it." Stef explains. "And all I mean by  _that_ , is it's probably gonna take some manoeuvring and a lot of extra pillows just to sleep without laying on a sore spot, let alone trying to do anything else."   
  
The insulted look on Brian's face fades slowly. Stefan goes against his better judgement and allows himself to stare at the honestly beautiful boy. He pays attention to the detail of the shadows beneath his eyes and the lag before each blink. Stef walks around the foot of the bed and sits on the other side, lounging against the numerous pillows.   
  
"Brian, would you rather I left?"  
  
"We're not allowed to tell clients to leave," Brian informs him in monotone.   
  
Stef bites his lip. "I'm not asking as a client. Just as another person in the same room as you. I'll go if you'd prefer to be alone."   
  
Brian closes his eyes. "No."    
  
"When's the last time you got to relax? Maybe just lay and stare at the ceiling until you drift off to sleep, and then wake up and stare at the ceiling some more?"  
  
The boy turns his head and finally looks Stef in the face. "5, 6 years ago."   
  
"Would you lay with me, then?"   
  
"It's forbidden for employees to sleep anywhere but the private bunks. If Miss Rene finds out, I could be fired, or worse."  
  
"Well," Stef smiles. "I certainly won't say anything."   
  
While Stef stretches and gets comfortable on top of the duvet, Brian considers the offer. He's entirely exhausted at this point and incredibly grateful for all Stef's done for him. He knows he'll never see this kind, gentle man again and makes the impulsive decision to enjoy this once in a lifetime night and the man facilitating it. He throws caution out the window and gently crawls under the covers.   
  
"Hey, and you won't be lying if you tell your friends that you slept with a prostitute tonight." Brian laughs.   
  
Stef quickly inspects the boy's face and finds shreds of honest joy beginning to show. He joins in with the endearingly unique laughter. 

* * *

As Brian falls into a light sleep, he imagines telling his friends downstairs about the amazing night he's had. Though he won't, of course. How could he ever open his mouth about a stranger dragged into the brothel all but kicking and screaming, taking such painstaking care of him with a generosity never seen by any of the housemembers before? No one would believe him. And the one or two that did would surely kick him out into the street with nothing, or maybe even stone him to death. Lord forbid Miss Rene should catch wind of the wonderful happenings. With her filtered hearing, she'd only pick up on the fact that he didn't please the client and punish him for it. No, this unparalleled night, this prince of a man  _must_  be kept a secret. A secret for only the two of them in room 28 to have.   
  
Hours later, after drifting in and out of sleep multiple times, Brian wakes to Stef sitting next to him. He sits up and blinks the grogginess away. The clock on the media stand reads almost half-5. It's nearly closing time.   
  
Stefan utters the dreaded words: "I should be going."   
  
Brian sadly accepts that these are his last moments with one of the most amazing people he'll ever meet. A quick glance around and he sees that the remainder of first aid products have been put away, and the other side of the bed tidied. He stands and pulls the duvet up as Stefan begins to put his coat on. They step closer to each other and stare awkwardly for a moment. Stef slowly reaches out and wraps his arms around the boy.   
  
"Take care of yourself, Bri."   
  
Brian nods against the kind man's chest, desperately fighting the tears threatening to break through. They let go at the same time, but Stef runs his fingertips down the boy's face, again tucking his hair behind his ear. On a whim, he leans down and kisses just above the boy's temple.   
  
"And keep fighting," he whispers with a small smile.   
  
Stef grabs the room key from the nightstand and leads them back down the large staircase. Just like he normally would, Brian goes directly to the lounge, leaving Miss Rene to collect the key. He watches from behind the corner as Stef hands her the piece of shaped metal and she bids him a flirty farewell. When the woman turns to put the key on its hook, Stef looks towards the wall that Brian disappeared behind and brings his hand up as a final solemn wave goodbye.   
  
Brian blinks a tear from his eye as the main door clicks shut behind the angelic man.

 


End file.
